"Look at that, Scáthach," Medb said, pointing to a peculiar bird with feathers that shimmered in the soft light of early dawn. It perched on a nearby branch, seemingly unbothered by their presence.
Scáthach, ever the stoic one, took a moment to look up from the path they were treading. "What is it you wish me to see, love?" Her crimson eyes searched the horizon, looking for something more than a bird to marvel at.
Medb's golden eyes sparkled with excitement. "The colors! It's like a piece of the rainbow decided to take flight!"
Scáthach offered a rare smile. "I suppose it does have a certain charm," she conceded, her gaze returning to the path ahead.
They walked in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The dew-kissed grass beneath their boots was a stark contrast to the cobblestone streets they were accustomed to in their homeland. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, a scent that was both foreign and tantalizing.
"Do you think the people here will recognize us?" Medb mused, her pink hair fluttering in the morning breeze.
"Doubtful," Scáthach replied, her voice steady and unconcerned. "We've seen enough change to blend in."
The city of Dublin stretched before them, a sprawling tapestry of life just beginning to stir. The sounds of merchants preparing for the day's trade mingled with the distant bray of donkeys and the occasional shout of a fisherman. The sky was a canvas of pinks and purples, the sun not yet brave enough to fully show its face.
Medb nudged her with an elbow. "What do you say we cause a little trouble today?"
Scáthach's smile grew wider. "What kind of trouble, pray tell?"
"Oh, I don't know," Medb said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Something to make the history books, perhaps?"
The warrior's laugh was like the rumble of distant thunder. "History has a way of writing itself, my love. But if it's adventure you crave, I'm sure we can find it."
The couple continued their leisurely stroll, their steps echoing off the ancient stones. As they ventured deeper into the city, the cobblestone streets grew busier. People in various states of dress moved with purpose, their faces a mix of curiosity and wariness as they passed the two outsiders. Scáthach, with her long dark crimson hair and scarlet eyes, and Medb, with her long pink hair and golden eyes, certainly didn't blend in as well as Scáthach had suggested. But in this place, in this time, they were free to be who they truly were, without the weight of their storied pasts.
A commotion grew louder as they approached the city center. Voices raised in argument, the clang of steel on steel. Scáthach's hand instinctively went to her sword, while Medb's eyes lit up with anticipation. It appeared their search for adventure had found them.
They rounded a corner and saw a group of men, obviously drunk from the night before, harassing a young girl. Her cries for help went unheeded in the early morning hustle. Scáthach's gaze hardened as she assessed the situation.
"Perhaps this is the kind of trouble you had in mind," she said drily to Medb.
Without waiting for a response, Scáthach strode forward, her very presence commanding the attention of the troublemakers. "Leave her be," she ordered, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
The men turned, sneers curling their lips. "Mind your own business, witch," one slurred.
Medb's mischief transformed into cold fury. "Oh, but we do enjoy a good challenge," she purred, her hand moving to the hilt of her own weapon.
The confrontation escalated as the men realized they were not dealing with ordinary townsfolk. Scáthach stepped in front of the girl, shielding her with her body, as Medb flanked the group with a grace that belied her warrior's heart. The girl took the opportunity to slip away, her eyes wide with fear and gratitude.
The men, now sobered by the threat before them, realized the folly of their actions. But pride was a stubborn beast, and they chose to stand their ground. A fight broke out, swift and brutal, as the legendary couple made quick work of the would-be assailants. The clang of steel on steel grew louder, echoing through the narrow streets.
People stopped to watch, murmurs of amazement rippling through the crowd. It was not every day that one saw such skilled fighters, especially not women. As the last of the troublemakers fell to the ground, Scáthach offered a hand to help the girl to her feet.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Scáthach nodded, her scarlet eyes softening. "You're safe now."
The crowd parted for them as they continued on, the whispers of their names spreading like wildfire. The legend of Scáthach and Medb, the warrior and the queen, had just found new life in the streets of 1592 Dublin.
In the bustling square, a group of scholars huddled around a parchment, their faces alight with excitement. "Did you hear?" one exclaimed. "The Queen has granted us the right to build Trinity College!"
Another scholar nodded, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "The former site of the Augustinian Priory of All Hallows will soon be a bastion of learning!"
Scáthach and Medb exchanged a knowing look, their steps slowing as they approached the gathering. The promise of knowledge was a siren's call to the ever-curious Medb, while Scáthach couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride for the advancement of civilization.
"What is this 'Trinity College'?" Scáthach asked, her curiosity piqued.
A nearby scholar looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of the two women. "It's a place of higher education," he managed to stutter out. "To be built in the Queen's name, a beacon of enlightenment!"
Medb's grin grew wider. "And what will they teach there?"
The scholar swallowed hard. "Everything from the classics to the sciences," he replied. "A place where the greatest minds can come together and learn from one another."
Scáthach nodded, her eyes distant as she pondered the implications of such a place. "Knowledge is power," she murmured.
Medb's gaze sharpened. "And power can be quite entertaining, if wielded correctly," she said with a glint in her eye.
The scholars looked at each other uneasily, unsure how to interpret the strange women's words. As they walked away, the whispers grew louder, following them like a shadow. The legend of their encounter with the trouble-makers had already begun to weave itself into the fabric of the city's tales.
Their next destination was the local tavern, where they hoped to gather information on the lay of the land and perhaps find some amusement in the stories of the locals. As they pushed open the heavy wooden door, the smell of ale and roasting meat hit them like a warm embrace.
The tavern fell silent as the patrons took in the unusual sight of the two women, one with hair the color of fresh blood and eyes like embers, the other with a mane of pink that seemed to glow in the candlelight. The barkeep, a burly man with a thick beard, raised an eyebrow. "What can I get for you two?"
"Ale," Medb said with a wink, sliding onto a stool. "And perhaps a bit of local gossip."
The barkeep chuckled, filling their mugs with a frothy brew. "Local gossip, you say? Well, the biggest talk of late is Queen Elizabeth. They say she's got Ireland by the neck and won't let go till she's squeezed every drop of rebellion from it."
Scáthach's hand tightened around her mug. "The House of Tudor," she murmured. "Interesting times we live in."
Medb leaned in, her golden eyes gleaming with interest. "Is there much unrest here, then?"
The barkeep nodded solemnly. "Aye, the Irish are a fiery bunch. They don't take kindly to English rule. But what's that to the likes of us?" He handed them their drinks, his eyes lingering on their weapons.
"We're just passing through," Scáthach assured him, taking a sip of the bitter ale. "Though we've a keen ear for a good story."
The conversation around them grew hushed as the patrons realized who they were dealing with. The name of the Queen was not one to be taken lightly, especially in these times of turmoil. But Medb had always had a way of easing tension, and soon enough, the air was filled with tales of daring rebellion and the Queen's iron fist.
One man spoke up, his voice filled with a mix of anger and admiration. "They say she's got spies everywhere, even here in Dublin. She'll stop at nothing to keep her crown and her lands in line."
Medb's eyes sparkled with mischief. "A challenge, indeed," she whispered into Scáthach's ear.
But Scáthach's thoughts were elsewhere. She couldn't help but think of the power that lay in knowledge, in education. "Perhaps we should pay this 'Trinity College' a visit," she suggested.
Medb's grin grew. "Now that sounds like a fine idea. I've always had a taste for the finer things in life, and knowledge is the sweetest of all."
The two women clinked their mugs together, the sound lost in the buzz of the tavern. As they sipped their ale and listened to the whispers of rebellion, their eyes met, and in that moment, a new adventure began to unfold. They would not only watch history unfold from the sidelines but perhaps, just maybe, they would leave their own indelible mark on the pages of time.
Leaving the tavern with a sense of purpose, they navigated the cobblestone streets to the outskirts of the city where the construction of Trinity College was in its early stages. The sight of the half-built walls and the bustle of workers brought a glint to Medb's eyes. "Ah, the smell of progress," she said with a smile.
Scáthach surveyed the area with a critical eye, noticing the quality of the stone and the precision of the craftsmanship. "This place will stand for centuries," she said, her voice filled with admiration.
The foreman, a gruff man with a weathered face, eyed them suspiciously. "What's your business here?" he barked.
Medb's playful smile never wavered. "We're just passing through and thought we'd see this wonder for ourselves."
He grunted, seemingly unimpressed by their appearance but too busy to question further. They were allowed to wander the site, taking in the grandeur of the project. The clang of hammers on stone and the shouts of laborers created a symphony of ambition.
As they explored, Medb's curiosity grew, and she began asking questions about the construction and the college's future curriculum. Scáthach watched her wife with affection, her stoicism giving way to quiet amusement. It was clear that Medb's mind was already racing with the potential for mischief within these walls.
The foreman, catching the contagious spirit of Medb's enthusiasm, began to open up. He talked of grand libraries and halls of learning, where young minds could be shaped by the wisdom of the ancients. Scáthach listened, her thoughts drifting to the battles she had fought and the lives she had saved. Perhaps, she thought, there was more than one way to change the world.
The sun had reached its zenith by the time they left the construction site. Medb was practically bouncing with excitement. "Imagine the trouble we could stir up here," she said, her eyes shining with mischief.
Scáthach sighed, her smile resigned. "I'm sure you'll find a way," she said, her gaze drifting to the horizon, where the shadows of conflict were already beginning to take shape.
Their visit to Trinity College had been a brief interlude in the grand tapestry of their lives. But as they disappeared into the city, the whispers of their presence grew louder, hinting at the untold stories that would be born from their time in 1592 Dublin. The immortal couple had left their mark once again, not just in the annals of legend, but in the very fabric of a city poised on the brink of change. And as the sun dipped below the buildings, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets, the promise of a new chapter in their endless tale grew ever stronger.
Months later, Scáthach found herself standing before a bemused council of scholars, dressed in the finest garb she could scrounge from their small lodgings. Her crimson eyes bore into the room with a fierce determination that made even the most stoic of the men shift in their seats.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her deep, commanding voice echoing through the grand hall of the newly established college.
The scholars, all men of considerable learning and prestige, exchanged puzzled glances. "You wish to enroll?" the head scholar asked, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
Medb, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold from the sidelines, couldn't help but snicker. "It seems our dear Scáthach has decided she needs a bit of 'cultural refinement'," she explained with a wink.
Scáthach shot her a glare that could have melted steel. "I merely wish to understand this 'education' that holds the city in such thrall."
The scholars, caught off guard by her audacity, stuttered over their words. "Well, we do not typically accept... females..." one began.
"I assure you," Medb interrupted, her voice as smooth as honey, "my wife is quite the exception to any rule."
Scáthach's patience was wearing thin. "I've taught warriors, fought alongside kings, and seen the rise and fall of empires," she said, her voice like a whip crack. "I suspect I have more to offer your college than any of your current pupils."
The room grew so quiet, you could hear a quill drop. Then, to everyone's surprise, a single scholar began to laugh, a hearty, belly-shaking guffaw that soon had the entire council chuckling. "Very well," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "you've certainly got the spirit for it. But can you read?"
The tension in the room snapped like a bowstring, and the scholars leaned in, eager to see what this fiery woman would do next. Scáthach stepped forward, her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Can I read?" she repeated, her smile cold. "Let us see, shall we?"
With that, she snatched a dusty tome from a nearby shelf and began to read aloud, her voice clear and powerful, her pronunciation flawless. The scholars sat back in astonishment as she recited complex texts in Latin, Greek, and even some forgotten language that none of them could place.
The head scholar cleared his throat, his expression a mix of awe and wariness. "You do indeed have... a certain skill with words, madam."
Medb leaned against the grand wooden table, her arms crossed. "And with a bit of your knowledge, I dare say she could conquer more than just the written word."
"Well, it's still disappointing she's a woman. Women aren't privileged to know every thing." One of the scholars spoke up, his tone condescending.
Medb's eyes flashed with a warning, but before she could speak, Scáthach's voice, icy cold, cut through the room. "Privileged or not, I've seen the world turn, empires crumble, and men's hearts break," she said, her gaze piercing the skeptical scholar. "What I do not know, I will learn. And if your college truly is a bastion of knowledge, it would be a disservice to your Queen to refuse one who seeks it."
The scholar's cheeks reddened, but he had no retort. The council murmured among themselves before finally agreeing to allow her to audit the classes, under the condition that she not cause trouble. Medb couldn't resist sticking her tongue out at the man as they left the hall, their laughter echoing back to him.
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of lessons and debates. Scáthach proved to be an astute student, her warrior instincts translating well to the academic arena. Medb, ever the social butterfly, flitted from class to class, charming the young scholars and driving the older ones to distraction with her beauty and wit.
The couple's presence was met with a mix of awe and suspicion. They were not like the other students, with their ancient weapons and their air of otherworldliness. Yet, their passion for learning was undeniable, and slowly, the barriers of doubt began to crumble.
One evening, as the sun painted the sky with shades of gold and scarlet, Scáthach sat in the library, her nose buried in a book of military strategy. Medb, unable to sit still for long, had convinced a group of young scholars to play a game of chess. Her laughter filled the otherwise solemn space as she made bold moves that left her opponents dumbfounded.
Scáthach looked up from her studies to observe her wife's antics. Despite the centuries that had passed since their reign, Medb's spirit remained as vibrant and mischievous as ever. It was a stark contrast to the stoic warrior's own demeanor, but it was a dance they had long ago learned to perform together.
A shadow fell across the open pages of Scáthach's book, and she looked up to find a young scholar standing before her, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Madam," he stuttered, "might I ask from where you hail? Your knowledge of ancient texts is... unrivaled."
Scáthach closed the book, her expression unreadable. "We are from a place where knowledge is as plentiful as the stars in the sky," she said cryptically.
The scholar's eyes lit up. "Is it true what they say, that you are the legendary Scáthach and Medb?"
Medb's laughter abruptly ceased, and she turned to look at the young man, her playful smile replaced by a sly grin. "Whoever said that was clearly well informed," she purred, sauntering over to join the conversation.
The scholar's face flushed, and he stumbled over his words. "I-I meant no disrespect, I just-"
Scáthach held up a hand to silence him. "It's of no consequence. We are who we are. Now, tell us, what brings you to this place of learning?"
The young man, still in awe, managed to compose himself. "I wish to study history, to understand the tides of power that have shaped our world."
Scáthach leaned back in her chair, her crimson eyes thoughtful. "Then you've come to the right place. But remember," she warned, "the past is not just a story to be told, but a lesson to be learned."
As the night grew darker and the candles burned low, the three of them shared stories and wisdom, the air thick with the promise of knowledge and the thrill of the unknown. It was in moments like these that Scáthach felt truly alive, her soul stirred by the fire of discovery.
Medb, on the other hand, grew restless. "We've been cooped up in this stuffy library for hours," she complained, stretching her arms over her head. "When do we get to the fun part of being in a new city?"
Scáthach's gaze never left the pages of the book in front of her. "You had your fun earlier. This is my turn."
The young scholar looked from one to the other, a spark of curiosity lighting his eyes. "What do you mean, 'fun'?"
Medb's grin was pure mischief. "Oh, you know, the kind of trouble that makes for good stories," she winked. "But fear not, young scholar. The night is still young."
The three of them left the library, the warmth of their camaraderie a stark contrast to the chill of the evening air. The streets of Dublin were quieter now, the shadows playing tricks on the cobblestone. Medb's pink hair was like a beacon in the moonlight, leading them to a hidden alley where the sound of laughter and music spilled from a dimly lit tavern.
"Ah, this is more like it," she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of adventure.
Scáthach sighed, resigning herself to the inevitable. "Very well. But remember, we are not here to cause trouble," she said, her voice a gentle reprimand.
Medb pouted playfully. "Who said anything about causing trouble?"
The tavern was a cacophony of sound, the smell of ale and roasting meat mingling with the sweat and laughter of the patrons. Medb immediately made herself at home, charming the locals with her stories and winning games of chance with ease. Scáthach, ever the protector, remained at the edge of the room, her eyes scanning for any signs of danger or unrest.
But the night was not to be one of peaceful merriment. As the hours ticked by, tension grew outside the tavern's walls. The whispers of rebellion had turned to shouts, the air electric with the promise of conflict.
"Scáthach," Medb said, her playfulness gone, "it seems our timing is as impeccable as ever."
The warrior nodded, her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Indeed," she said gravely. "We should prepare ourselves."
The tavern door slammed open, and a group of English soldiers stumbled in, their eyes bloodshot with drink and anger. They scanned the room, searching for any sign of the rebellion they were so eager to quash. The revelry died down as the locals recognized the danger that had entered their sanctuary.
"You there!" one of the soldiers bellowed, pointing at Scáthach. "What business have you in this place?"
Scáthach rose slowly from her chair, her crimson eyes never leaving the man's face. "The same as yours, I suspect," she said evenly. "A quiet evening away from the world's troubles."
The soldier sneered. "Quiet is the last thing we'll have, with traitors like you whispering sedition into the ears of these fools."
Medb, ever the diplomat, stepped in front of her wife, her own hand resting on her sword. "Now, now," she said soothingly, "no need for harsh words. We're just simple travelers, looking for a good time."
The soldiers didn't seem convinced. One of them spat on the floor. "Simple travelers, are you? Dressed like that?" He sneered at their fine attire, which was a stark contrast to the roughspun clothes of the common folk around them.
Scáthach's eyes narrowed. "Our clothes are none of your concern," she said firmly. "But if you're looking for a fight, you've found it."
Just then, a cloaked woman burst into the tavern, her eyes wild with fear. She caught sight of the soldiers and immediately spun around, her cloak billowing out like the wings of a startled bird. "Oh, dear heavens!" she squealed, before darting outside with the grace of a deer. The soldiers, momentarily distracted, turned their attention to the doorway, their hands on their weapons.
Scáthach and Medb exchanged a look of amusement. "It seems we have an audience," Scáthach murmured.
The soldiers stumbled out of the tavern, leaving a trail of ale in their wake. The tavern patrons let out a collective sigh of relief, and the music and laughter slowly began to build again.
"We should follow," Medb said, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Who knows what kind of trouble that little bird has gotten herself into?"
Scáthath nodded, her hand tightening on her sword. "And we can't have that, can we?"
They slipped out of the tavern, their movements as silent as shadows on the cobblestone streets. The air was charged with anticipation, and the distant sound of clashing steel and shouts of anger grew louder with each step they took.
The cloaked woman was easy to spot, her garb fluttering as she darted through the narrow alleys. They followed her at a safe distance, staying hidden in the shadows. Medb's curiosity was piqued, and she could feel the thrill of the chase coursing through her veins.
The cloaked woman looked around and sighed since she felt no one is following her. She removed her cloak revealing her face that looks like a royal. Her eyes scanning the area, she noticed Scáthach and Medb's distinctive figures in the distance and she quickened her pace.
The chase led them through the dimly lit streets of Dublin, weaving in and out of the tightly packed buildings that stood tall and proud despite the centuries of wear. The cobblestone path was slick with rain, and the distant rumble of thunder hinted at a storm brewing. The cloaked woman, who was none other than the Queen of England herself who has sneaked out of her villa in Dublin. She was young, with fiery red hair and eyes that held a spark of defiance, was easy to spot despite her efforts to blend in.
Scáthach and Medb exchanged glances, the thrill of the unexpected adventure bringing a smirk to their lips. They had encountered many powerful figures in their long lives, but a chance to interact with the Queen of England was something new, even for them.
"Keep your distance," Scáthach whispered to Medb, "We don't want to alarm her."
Medb rolled her golden eyes but nodded in agreement. They had played this game before, countless times. The thrill of the hunt was in the chase, not the confrontation.
The Queen, unaware of her pursuers, slipped into a darker alley, her steps echoing off the wet stones. The rain had started to fall in earnest now, plinking off their hats and cloaks as they moved with predatory grace. The sound grew fainter as the alley opened into a deserted square, where a gallows loomed in the center, a grim reminder of the city's harsh justice system.
Suddenly, the Queen froze, her back to them. They could almost hear the hammering of her heart, a wild creature trapped in a hunter's snare.
Scáthach stepped out of the shadows, her scarlet eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. "Your Highness," she called, her voice carrying across the square, "you seem to have lost your way."
The Queen spun around, her hand going to her dagger. Recognition flickered in her eyes as she took in the legendary warrior and her mischievous wife. "Scáthach! Medb!" she exclaimed, relief washing over her features.
"In the flesh," Medb said with a dramatic flourish, stepping into the light. "Now, what brings a lady of your station to such a... rustic part of town?"
The Queen looked around nervously before lowering her voice. "I had to see for myself," she said. "The whispers of rebellion... I had to understand why my people are so discontent."
Scáthach's expression softened. "A wise move," she said. "But a dangerous one. These streets are not safe for one such as you."
The Queen straightened her shoulders, her eyes flashing with the same fiery determination that had earned her the throne. "I can handle myself," she said. "But I thank you for your concern."
Medb's gaze was shrewd. "Perhaps we could offer our assistance," she suggested. "We have a certain... expertise in navigating such waters."
The Queen studied them for a long moment before finally nodding. "Very well," she said. "But on one condition: you do not reveal my identity."
Scáthach raised an eyebrow. "Your secrets are safe with us," she promised. "For now."
The three women set off into the heart of the city, the Queen leading the way through a maze of alleys and side streets, her royal garb hidden beneath the cloak of anonymity. The storm grew more intense, the wind howling through the narrow passages like a banshee's cry.
They arrived at the rebel's meeting place, a crumbling old church that had seen better days. The Queen slipped inside, Scáthach and Medb following close behind.
The room was packed with men and women, their faces etched with the hardships of a life under English rule. The air was thick with the smell of damp wool and the sizzle of candle wax.
The Queen stepped forward, her hood falling back to reveal her true identity. Gasps filled the room, quickly followed by a cacophony of voices.
"Silence!" Scáthach's voice boomed, silencing the crowd. "Let her speak."
The Queen took a deep breath, her eyes meeting the fiery gaze of the legendary warrior. "I am here to listen," she said firmly. "To understand your griefs, and perhaps, find a way to ease them."
For a moment, it seemed as if the room might erupt in chaos, but then, a man with a grizzled beard stepped forward. "We've suffered enough," he said, his voice filled with anger and pain. "Our lands are stolen, our language forgotten, our children sent to English schools to become copies of our oppressors."
Scáthach nodded solemnly. "These are indeed heavy burdens," she said. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to balance the scales."
Medb leaned in, her golden eyes gleaming. "Or perhaps," she whispered to Scáthach, "we can tip them entirely."
The warrior looked at her wife, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "We'll see," she murmured.
The Queen turned to the grizzled man. "What would you have of me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
The man looked her in the eye. "We want our lands back," he said bluntly. "We want our children taught our ways, not yours."
The Queen's expression was thoughtful. "These are not requests to be granted lightly," she said. "But I shall take them to heart and consider them."
Scáthach stepped forward, her hand on the Queen's shoulder. "Your people need more than words," she said, her voice low. "They need action."
The Queen nodded. "I understand," she said. "And I will act. But for now, we must be cautious. The eyes of England are upon us."
Medb's smile grew wider, her mischief unabated even in the face of such gravity. "Then let us show them a trick or two," she said, her eyes dancing with the fire of an unspoken plan.
The three of them left the church, the Queen once again swathed in her cloak of anonymity. The rain had turned into a downpour, drenching their clothes and plastering their hair to their heads.
"You have our support," Scáthach said, her crimson eyes meeting the Queen's. "But remember, we are not your pawns. We fight for the cause of freedom."
The Queen looked at her, the weight of her decision heavy on her shoulders. "I know," she said. "And I am grateful."
As they parted ways, the Queen disappeared into the storm, her hood pulled tight against the driving rain. Scáthach and Medb watched her go, the echo of her words lingering in the air.
"What do you think she'll do?" Medb mused, her hand playing with the hilt of her sword.
Scáthach's gaze was distant. "Only time will tell," she said. "But one thing is certain: we've made ourselves a part of this city's story."
The rain grew heavier, turning the streets into rivers that mirrored the tumultuous emotions within them. Yet, the immortal couple remained unfazed, their eyes on the horizon where the lightning danced.
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of whispers and shadows. Scáthach and Medb moved through the city, their presence known but not seen, their influence subtle but powerful. They taught the rebels the art of war, the subtlety of diplomacy, and the cunning of strategy.
And as the storm clouds gathered over Ireland, it became clear that their time in the mortal realm was far from over. The whispers grew to shouts, the shadows to battles, and the lessons taught in the quiet of the night reverberated through the land.
For Scáthach, the warrior teacher, the classroom had once again become the battlefield. And for Medb, the mischievous queen, the thrill of the game had never been so intoxicating.
Yet, as they watched the city of Dublin come alive with the flames of rebellion, they knew that their involvement was a double-edged sword. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but the promise of change was too tempting to resist.
Their hearts were torn between the past they had left behind and the future they could help shape. But as the thunder rumbled and the rain pounded against the cobblestones, one thing was clear: they would stand together, come what may.
One evening, as the city buzzed with the whispers of revolution, a royal messenger arrived at their doorstep, a crimson seal on his parchment gleaming with the imprint of the English crown. The message was brief but unmistakable: Queen Elizabeth I of England requested their presence at her villa.
Intrigued, the couple followed the messenger through the soaked streets, their steps echoing in the silence of the curfew. The villa loomed before them, a bastion of power in the heart of a city on the brink of upheaval. They were led into a chamber where the Queen sat, her face etched with lines of worry and determination.
"Scáthach," she began, her voice heavy with the weight of her title, "I have heard much of your wisdom and skill in the art of war and governance."
Scáthach raised an eyebrow, her hand resting on her sword. "Your spies are efficient," she said, her tone neutral. "You have a different aura compared to our first meeting, Your Highness."
The Queen's eyes twinkled with the barest hint of amusement. "Indeed," she said while chuckling. "Back to the main purpose, I am in need of such expertise. Adam Loftus, the current provost of Trinity College, is growing old. I wish to ensure the institution's prosperity and loyalty to the crown."
Medb leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "And how do you intend for us to help with that?"
The Queen's gaze was sharp. "By becoming the new provost," she said. "Scáthach, your intellect and strength could guide the college in the right direction. And Medb," she turned to the former queen with a knowing smile, "your charm could win over the hearts and minds of the people, securing the crown's influence."
Scáthach considered the proposal, her eyes narrowing. "We are not pawns to be moved at your whim," she warned.
The Queen of England leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "I do not intend to control you," she said. "But I offer you a chance to make a difference, to shape the future of this land as you see fit."
Medb's eyes gleamed with excitement. "And what would be our role, precisely?"
The Queen steepled her fingers. "You would serve as advisors, in a sense. With the title of provost, Scáthach would have the authority to implement changes within the college, while you, my dear," she said, looking at Medb, "would act as the college's envoy, ensuring that the crown's interests are protected, but also advocating for the Irish people."
The room was silent, the crackle of the fire the only sound as the immortal couple digested the offer. It was a delicate balance they were being asked to strike, but one that held the promise of significant impact.
"We will think on it," Scáthach said finally. "But know this: we are not easily bought or swayed."
The Queen nodded. "I expect no less," she said. "But I believe you will find that our goals align in this matter."
As they left the villa, the storm had passed, leaving the city sodden and quiet. They walked side by side, their cloaks clinging to their bodies, the cobblestones glistening under the moon's pale glow.
"Well, that was unexpected," Medb said, her voice filled with glee. "But also, quite thrilling."
Scáthach was more contemplative. "It is a great responsibility," she mused. "But it could be an opportunity to bring real change."
Medb took her hand. "Whatever we decide," she said, "we do it together."
The next days were spent in heated debate, weighing the risks and potential rewards. They sought counsel from the rebels they had come to know and from the scholars who had come to respect them. The decision was not an easy one, but the call of destiny was strong.
Finally, they made their choice. Scáthach would take on the mantle of provost, and Medb would serve as the college's envoy. They would not just be participants in the unfolding drama of Dublin's history; they would be shapers of it.
Their arrival at Trinity College was met with a mix of astonishment and hope. The scholars and students alike were aware of the turmoil outside the walls, and the presence of these legendary figures brought a spark of excitement and possibility to their otherwise cloistered lives.
As Scáthach addressed the assembly, her crimson hair falling in waves over her shoulders, she could feel the weight of the responsibility she had accepted. "We stand at a crossroads," she declared, her scarlet eyes scanning the sea of faces before her. "The path we choose now will determine the fate of this institution and this land."
Medb, standing at her side, her pink hair a stark contrast to the somber garb of the scholars, offered a playful wink. "And who better to lead us into the future," she said with a grin, "than a couple of ancient rebels?"
The room erupted in laughter and applause, the tension easing for a brief moment. Yet, as the echoes of their words faded, the reality of their task settled heavily upon them. The future of Ireland was in their hands, and it was a future fraught with danger and opportunity.
But as they had done countless times before, Scáthach and Medb faced the unknown with courage and wit, ready to tackle the challenges that awaited them in the hallowed halls of Trinity College and the tumultuous streets of Dublin beyond.
Modern Era, 2024.
Professor Scáthach O'Connell is strolling around the college halls and looked at the picture of the previous provosts of the College. Her portrait is there being hanged since she is the second provost after Adam Lofter. Her crimson hair and scarlet eyes were as sharp as ever, reflecting the wisdom and experience of centuries past.
Her wife Medb, now known as Medb O'Connell, is standing beside her. Medb is now an ordinary café owner in the modern world, but her golden eyes still hold the mischief of a thousand battles and political intrigues. She nudges Scáthach playfully. "Do you miss the old days?"
Scáthach smiles wryly, "Every era has its charm, but I prefer the luxuries of modernity. The smell of ink and parchment is replaced by the scent of freshly brewed coffee."
Medb laughs. "And the swords with smartphones."
They exit the building and into the bustling streets of 2024 Dublin. The city has transformed into a metropolis of steel and glass, but the spirit of rebellion still lingers in its veins.
A young student, recognizing them from their historical significance, approaches nervously. "Professor O'Connell, Mrs. O'Connell," he stammers, holding a device with a cracked screen. "Could I... could I have a selfie with you two?"
Medb winks at him. "But of course, darling," she says, striking a pose. Scáthach rolls her eyes but obliges, placing a gentle hand on Medb's shoulder.
The student snaps the picture, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you," he says, before running off to share his encounter with the legends.
Scáthach shakes her head. "Technology has certainly changed the way we're remembered," she muses.
Medb links arms with her. "Some things never change," she says. "Like our ability to turn heads."
They continue walking, the cobblestone streets now replaced with sleek pavement. The past whispers to them, reminding them of the battles they've fought and the lives they've touched. Yet, they march forward, ever eager to embrace the new and the unexplored.
Their conversation shifts to the current state of the college and the country. "The Irish language is making a comeback," Medb says, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I've even picked up a few phrases from the customers at the café."
Scáthach nods. "It's a testament to the resilience of our people," she replies. "But we must be vigilant. The fight for identity is never truly over."
Their steps slow as they approach a group of protesters, their voices raised in passionate debate about the preservation of ancient sites versus the need for progress. Scáthach and Medb share a knowing look.
"Shall we?" Scáthach asks, a glint in her eye.
Medb laughs. "Always up for a good debate, aren't you?"
They join the discussion, their words carrying the weight of experience and wisdom. The crowd parts for them, recognizing the provost and her enigmatic wife.
As the evening sets in, the air is alive with the energy of the city, a reminder that the wheel of time continues to turn. Yet, as the legendary couple engages with the people, it's clear that their spirits are as eternal as the stories that have been woven around them.
And as they stand amidst the modern world, surrounded by the echoes of the past, they know that their legacy is not just one of battles and love but of the eternal struggle for freedom and knowledge. And it is a legacy they will continue to uphold, with every step they take into the ever-changing landscape of the future.